


Knowing You

by story_strudel



Series: My favorite crackship [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst for like a second, Cats, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, board meetings, office politics, ok a couple seconds, protective turks, reeve is bad at feelings, reeve is best boy, reno is very bad at feelings, renos problematic fav
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_strudel/pseuds/story_strudel
Summary: In which Reeve’s casual act of kindness leads to unexpected, though not unwelcome, complications.Or, if you prefer:Reno comes down with a big, fat crush.
Relationships: Reno & Reeve Tuesti, Reno/Reeve Tuesti
Series: My favorite crackship [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806301
Comments: 17
Kudos: 75





	Knowing You

**_Knowing You_ **

**…**

“Don’t eat so fast,” Rude chides. “You’ll get sick.”

The redhead in question continues cramming dessert into his mouth. “I don’t understand,” he gasps between swallows. “How can something...taste....so….good?”

“You really will get sick,” Rufus says, taking a dainty bite of his souffle.

“Grew up in the slums, boss. I can eat anything.”

As he watches Reno of the Turks demolish a strawberry tart meant to serve four people, Reeve Tuesti believes this might be true.

Reeve has worked at Shinra for the majority of his professional life. That being said, he can’t say that he’s ever learned to be at ease around anyone from Administrative Research. When Rufus had requested his presence at a sustainable development summit in Mideel, he had jumped at the opportunity. What he hadn’t realized at the time was that Rufus intended to join him.

Now, while Reeve appreciates the new president’s commitment to developing a greener, less murderous Shinra Electric Power Company, he does not particularly appreciate that wherever Rufus goes, a bodyguard or two isn’t far behind.

And that is how he finds himself in _Bahamut Bakery and Tea_ , treehouse cafe overlooking the forests of Mideel that offers a 100% organic dining experience complete with locally sourced produce and reusable straws. The owner is supposedly one of Rufus’ old college friends, though Reeve can’t imagine the young president participating in anything so pedestrian as friendship. Speculation about Rufus’ personal life aside, the food is tasty and very on-brand for Neo Shinra.

And Reno has just ingested more of that food than can possibly be good for anyone. 

Reno’s sweet tooth is weirdly endearing, Reeve decides that evening while he’s lying on starched, hotel bed sheets staring at the pine knots in the ceiling. It’s a nice reminder that the Turks are human like anybody else.

…

During his lunch break the following Monday, Reeve drops by a shopping center to pick up a few items and fill a prescription for his cat. While there, he notices a rather pretty display of organic fruit.

He places a carton of strawberries in his cart. 

Back at the office, Reeve stops by Administrative Research. As luck would have it, the office is empty - save for Reno, who is slouched over his messy workspace fiddling with his PHS. 

“Heya, Director Tuesti,” he says, not looking up. “Need somethin’?”

Reeve realizes only now that what he’s about to do is, in fact, a little awkward. He’s already engaged the Turk in conversation, though. No time to back out. “I, uh, here. These are for you.”

“Hmm?” Glancing up, Reno’s eyes zero in on the carton in his hand. 

As though feeding a dangerous animal, Reeve places the carton on the edge of the desk and backs up several paces. Reno’s gaze flits from the berries to Reeve and back again. “I saw them when I was running errands,” Reeve continues when the redhead fails to say anything. “They’re Mideel strawberries. The kind in that dessert you liked.”

Granting Reeve’s offering a careful once over, Reno selects a strawberry and takes a bite. “Damn,” he murmurs, eyelids fluttering in appreciation as he reaches for his pocket. “How much I owe you?” 

Reeve waves his hands. “Oh, no need. I just happened to stumble upon them is all.”

Hesitantly, Reno puts away his wallet. “Right. Um, thanks,” he says, drawing the carton closer to him and staring at it intensely like he’s trying to sort something out.

“Glad you like them,” Reeve replies before excusing himself hastily to his 1:30 meeting.

**…**

The week that follows is a busy time in which Reeve meets four deadlines, misses two deadlines, catches the intern stealing office supplies, gives the intern a second chance, and puts off his dental appointment for the third month running. 

By Friday, he’s running on fumes, but at least he’s finally caught up enough to take a break. Reeve’s first thought is to go home and hit the sack early, but his cat is currently at the vet recovering from kidney stones, and the idea of returning to an empty apartment is not vastly appealing.

Instead, Reeve ends up at a brew pub near Neo Shinra HQ. It’s not a happening place - nowhere in New Midgar’s business district is “happening” on Friday night - but it is conveniently located and boasts deliciously greasy fries that are only somewhat overpriced. Normally, he tries to be careful with what he eats. Reeve is, after all, past the halfway point of the prime of life, and once phantom threats like “cholesterol” and “high blood pressure” are concerns he now has to contend with. It’s been a long week, though, and he feels like he’s earned a burger. 

As he eats, Reeve pulls out a history of Cetra urban planning and cracks it open. He is engrossed in the intricacies of Ancient zoning laws and whether they might benefit some WRO projects he has in mind when the server walks over and places a draft beer in front of him.  
  


Reeve blinks up at her, perplexed.

“Courtesy of the guy with his tits out.” She jerks her thumb towards the tables in back.

The guy with his what now? Following her gesture with his gaze, Reeve does his best to suppress a double take. 

Slouched in the far booth with his back against the wall is Reno of the Turks. 

Not really knowing what else he’s supposed to do, Reeve gives him a little wave. Reno nods back. He expresses zero inclination to approaching, only watches with lidded eyes as Reeve brings the beer to his lips. 

It’s a full, hoppy IPA - just the right blend of smooth and bitter with citrus undertones that make his taste buds tingle. It’s so delicious that Reeve closes his eyes for a moment, savoring the flavor.

When he opens them again, Reno has disappeared. All that’s left is a mostly full drink on the table where he was sitting and the sense that Reeve may have missed something important.

…

“It’s gone. All that hard work. FOR NOTHING.” 

This is what greets Reeve when he walks into the Urban Planning office on Thursday.

The formerly sticky-fingered but recently reformed intern, Ricky - because Reeve needs _another_ colleague whose name begins with “R” - is lying facedown on the carpet next to a gently smoking computer tower. Mei-Ling, Neo Shinra’s WRO liaison, is standing over him brandishing a fire extinguisher in a way that one might construe as threatening.

Taking care not to step on Ricky, Reeve walks over to the coat rack and removes his jacket. “We’ll need an extension for the Green Spaces Strategy Proposal, I take it?”

“He saved it to his _desktop_ ,” Mei-Ling seethes, “like a heathen.”

With an inhuman moan, Ricky pulls himself to his knees so that he can cower more effectively. “I’m sorry Director Tuesti! I was up proofreading all night, and then I forgot my password for the shared drive...and...and then…”

“The computer caught fire. Got it.” Gazing down at Ricky’s sad, weak-chinned face, Reeve bites back a sigh. He has seen people groveling at Heideggar and Scarlet’s feet on any number of occasions but has personally never developed a taste for it. “Take that tower to IT and see if anything is salvageable. Mei-Ling, when Tevia gets in, would you ask her to postpone our 10 o’clock with Parks and Recreation?”

Once he’s certain that his subordinates are not about to burst into tears or cause grievous bodily harm to others, Reeve whips out his PHS and starts calling in some favors. 

The meeting is successfully delayed, and Reeve spends all day rushing to reconstruct a report that took the better part of three months to complete. He sends Mei-Ling home at 6 PM so that she can eat dinner with her kids and kicks Ricky out at 7:23 because his hovering makes it hard to concentrate. At 11:42, he decides to take a quick caffeine break and ends up in front of a vending machine in the cafeteria. 

As luck would have it, his bottled iced tea gets stuck in the metal loopy thing, and in the distablizing moment that follows, the exhaustion catches up to him, and Reeve entertains the thought that he might cry. 

“Just ain’t your day, is it?”

Letting out a shout of alarm, Reeve turns to find Reno leaning against the wall right next to him. Casually, the redhead pulls out his electromag rod and gives the vending machine a sharp tap. “There we go,” he says, as Reeve’s drink finally drops.

“Thanks.” Retrieving his purchase, Reeve gives Reno a furtive once over. His first thought is to ask what the Turk is doing in the office so late, but one look at the rust-colored stains on his collar confirms that he doesn’t actually want to know. 

“Tevia told me about the report, yo. You should eviscerate that intern.” 

Since when do Reno and Reeve’s PA engage in office gossip? “We all make mistakes,” Reeve replies, deciding he doesn’t want to know the answer to that question, either. “Hopefully, he’ll learn from this one.”

Reno snorts. “Should count himself lucky, workin’ for a nice guy like you.”

The way he says this while cracking his knuckles and smiling grimly reminds Reeve that neither Reno nor the people he works for are particularly nice.

“Well, uh, I should get back to it.”

Caught in the light of the vending machine, Reno winks. “Don’t work too hard, sir.”

**…**

It may be his imagination, but it seems to Reeve that he sees more of Reno in the two weeks that follow than he has in the sum duration of his employment at Shinra. Of course, the Turk shows up in the usual situations - shadowing Rufus at board meetings and site visits, begging Donna from Accounts Payable to accept scrawled-on restaurant napkins as receipts - but he turns up in weird places, too. Like the bougy cafe across the street that Reeve likes and an in-company lecture series he organized about neighborhood revitalization and communicative planning models.

It gets to the point where Reeve wonders if someone put a hit on him, and the Turks were secretly assigned to protect him.

Or maybe he’s just a lonely, middle-aged man who finally noticed the redhead’s cheekbones and thought “well, gee.”

It’s probably the latter, he decides while gazing glumly into the bathroom mirror one evening in a fit of Sunday doldrums. He’s 38 years old and, save for a chronically ill housecat and occasional visits from his mom and sister, he spends most of his free time alone. It’s not that he doesn’t want or have time for a relationship. Well, he doesn’t have _much_ time, but he knows plenty of equally busy people who make it work. It’s just...what? A lack of energy? The sneaking suspicion that the bags beneath his eyes will send running every eligible bachelor in a one-hundred yard radius? 

Okay, so that might be a bit melodramatic. Reeve’s not bad-looking, _per se_. In fact, he considers his appearance solidly within the realm of “average.” It’s just that, starting with the destruction of Sector 7 and everything that happened after, Reeve sometimes finds it hard to view himself the way he used to.

**...**

Growing up, Reeve wanted for nothing, with the glaring exception of a pet. This specific absence in his childhood can be blamed entirely on his mother, who, prior to pulling herself out of poverty through sheer tenacity and her talent as an actress, had grown up below the plate. It was, thus, a universally acknowledged truth in their household that no amount of pleading could convince her a dog or cat had any place in a home when she had spent the majority of her childhood fighting with strays for scraps. 

Much to her displeasure, the second Reeve finished grad school and moved out, he got a cat. The cat’s name is Frank. He is 15 years old, fluffy, and has a list of medical conditions so prolific that Reeve opened a flex account just to cover his vet visits.

Frank has finally recovered from kidney stones when the ringworms come for him. How a pampered housecat who has not deigned to go outside in about a decade contracted ringworms is a mystery that Reeve has neither the time nor endurance to explore.

It is about a week into Frank’s ringworm treatment that Reeve is called away on business. The Junon city council has concerns regarding the structural integrity of their new sewer system, and judging by news coverage of the smell, the situation has become quite dire.

As he’s rushing to the helicopter - briefcase in one hand, overnight bag in the other - Reeve remembers his poor cat. Frank is all set for food and water, but his ringworm medication has to be administered. Nightly. 

“Goddamn it,” he mutters as he climbs into the chopper.

“Goddamn who, now?” Of course, Reno might as well be here. Lounging in the pilot’s seat like it somehow makes sense that second in command of the Turks would take time out of his day to shuttle executives to emergency sewage briefings, Reno arches his eyebrows in bemusement. “Somethin’ wrong? Pretty sure that’s the first time I ever heard you curse.”

During the flight to Junon, Reeve finds himself strapping into the copilot seat and opening up to Reno all about Frank’s ailments. He tells him about the kidney stones and the mange and the impacted molars and, of course, the goddamn ringworm. 

“I can’t ask my assistant to take care of it. She’s allergic to cats. And my usual pet sitter’s off on holiday.”

“ _Pet_ sitter?” Reno clicks his tongue. “Man, rich people are weird. How about that intern?”

Reeve rolls his eyes. “What do _you_ think?” 

“I could do it.”

“...you?”

“Why not?” Reno replies somewhat defensively. He turns to look at Reeve, jerking the entire helicopter in the process. “I’m a cat person.”

“Reno, have you ever interacted with a cat?”

“....okay, so I’m a cat person _theoretically_. Come on, yo. All I gotta do is hide its meds in tuna or somethin’, right?”

By now, they’ve landed on the rooftop helipad of the Junon branch office. The office is fifteen stories tall, and even up here the smell has carried. “There’s ointment, too,” Reeve says in defeat as he snaps his facemask in place and grabs his bags. “For the sores.”

“No worries. I got it handled.” Pulling out his PHS, Reno taps at his screen. Moments later, Reeve’s own device emits a loud buzz. “Just text me the instructions. I already know your address.”

“And my phone number, apparently.”

Reno smirks. “Relax. Us Turks got all the execs on speed dial in case of emergency. Anyway, I hate to cut our chat short, but this place really fuckin’ reeks.”

…

That evening, as he contemplates septic tanks in his hotel room while taking care to breathe through his mouth, Reeve receives a message. 

There’s no text, just a photo of Frank curled up contentedly on what he assumes is Reno’s lap.

Well, at least something seems to have gone well today.

_Guess you really are a cat person_ , he types back. _Thanks._

…

The Junon incident keeps Reeve away from home for three days. Each day, he asks Reno to see to his cat, and each day Reno responds with photos and videos of Frank - safe, content, and on his way to a parasite-free existence. The most recent contribution is a selfie of both of them cuddling on the sofa. With his fuzzy ears and the round white patch on his chin, Frank is adorable. With his full lips and exposed clavicle, Reno is...well he sure is something. 

When he finally gets home on Saturday evening, Reeve kicks off his shoes and collapses onto the couch. He finds the TV remote jammed beneath a pillow, and the art books on his coffee table are askew. 

“Guess he made himself at home,” Reeve tells Frank, finding himself too tired to mind. With a soft “mrrraow”, the cat leaps down from the back of the sofa and settles purring on his stomach.

…

  
  


“YOU HAVE MY WORD, MR. PRESIDENT. THIS ENEMY WILL NOT THREATEN THE INTEGRITY OF SHIN...OF NEO SHINRA.”

One day, Reeve hopes to make it through an entire board meeting with no one yelling.

Massaging his temples, Rufus sighs. “Please use your inside voice, Heiddegar. I promise, you are perfectly audible.” He turns to Tseng, who has the seat of honor at his right. “Give me the updates from Administrative Research.”

“With pleasure.” Succinctly and at a blessedly tolerable decibel, Tseng outlines the basics of the most recent security threat. Through their undoubtedly shady communication channels, the Turks have surmised that the most recent terror cell to declare war on Neo Shinra isn’t so much an ideological organization as it is a front for drug cartels who are mad that the company is no longer turning a blind eye to their illicit businesses. “Rude has a network of informants in place and will handle the situation,” Tseng says, turning to Heideggar with a faint smile. “Public Safety’s involvement is not required.”

“Well done,” Rufus says, cutting through Heideggar’s indignant spluttering. “Until this matter is resolved, I would like additional security measures enacted at all Neo Shinra facilities. Additionally, extra precautions should be taken to protect our board members and anyone else identified as a target for reprisal.”

“Consider it done, sir.” 

Reeve has never been one for power grabs or office politics. Truth be told, he still finds the fact that he made it this far on actual merit something of a miracle. That being said, even Reeve can appreciate the precision with which Tseng has begun rendering Heideggar obsolete. Before Rufus made Administrative Research an autonomous division, the Turks worked under Public Safety for nearly two decades. The marriage was never a harmonious one, nor has been the divorce.

Reeve is under no illusion that Tseng is a good person, but the new Executive Director of Administrative Research _is_ good to his people. The same cannot be said for Heiddegar. Before Rufus came to power, Reeve saw the head of Public Safety bully and abuse his subordinates on multiple occasions. 

Apparently, old habits die hard. As he strides out of the boardroom, Heideggar shoulder checks one of the Turks’ most recent recruits who’s been assigned guard duty while he learns the ropes. Unfortunately for him, Heidggar is built like an Air Buster, and it’s no surprise to anyone when the recruit goes flying.

“Didn’t see you there,” Heideggar sneers as he walks out, leaving Tseng to help his colleague to his feet while Rufus rolls his eyes at their theatrics. 

Now, it may have taken him a while, but Rufus has done a lot of good for Shinra and, by extension, the people of New Midgar and the world. Under his leadership, the company has made unprecedented advances in the development of sustainable energy and public services. Additionally, employees’ work-life balance - and general life expectancy - have improved. But it’s in moments like this, when the young President simply sits back and watches his staff railroad others like it’s a minor inconvenience, that Reeve remembers that Rufus is still something of an entitled brat. 

So, he dawdles, waiting until everyone has left the room except for Rufus and Tseng, who has dismissed the recruit and taken his place guarding the president from the doorway. 

Rufus regards him with mild disinterest. “You have something to discuss, Reeve?”

Well, it’s not as if he had much luck getting the first President Shinra to listen to him, but Reeve is nothing if not persistent. “I do, sir,” he says, stomach tight with misplaced adrenaline. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but in my experience, the most effective way to get the best out of your employees is to stick up for...to support them. It’s not enough to enact new policies. Showing personal investment in people’s wellbeing...in defending them if necessary...it might seem small, but it means a lot.”

For a moment, Rufus says nothing. Cheek propped casually against his palm, he simply stares at him. Then he sits up straight and stares at Reeve some more. “Thank you for the insight,” he finally says after stretching his dramatic pause to an obscene degree. “Your candor has not gone unnoticed.”

Uncertain of whether the president’s words are a commendation or a threat, Reeve decides to make himself scarce. He gives Tseng a slight nod on the way out. The Turk’s gaze is likewise unreadable.

…

The next day, Reeve enters the office after lunch to find a gift basket on his desk. It includes organic pet treats, a random assortment of cat toys, and a bottle of very expensive cognac.

  
There’s also a note card:

  
  


_Director Tuesti,_

_We have been informed of your cat’s prolonged poor health. Please accept our sincerest wishes for his recovery._

_Regards,_

_Administrative Research_

… 

For months now, Reeve has spent his weekends working on a new WRO development project for North Corel. Ever since the reactor there blew, the townspeople have been struggling to make ends meet. However, recent donations from WRO’s mysterious benefactor - who definitely isn’t Rufus Shinra - have done a lot to revitalize their economy. In order to sustain that economy, however, North Corel requires infrastructure to match.

One of the town’s chief concerns is water. The resource is scarce in the region, and the nearest reservoir is already taxed supplying Gold Saucer. However, recent environmental surveys have located an underground aquifer near North Corel that shows a lot of promise.

That’s where Reeve comes in. Of course, given the terrorist threat discussed in their last board meeting, one of the Turks is flagged to shadow him. This may not technically be Neo Shinra business, but the president insists. 

It’s not even a surprise at this point that his bodyguard ends up being Reno. 

Reeve’s never been to North Corel in person, and his first impression is that it’s...pretty rough. There’s not a proper house in the whole town - just tents and shacks built from plywood, sheet metal, and anything else the inhabitants could find. Said inhabitants appear none too welcoming, either. Aside from the mayor, no one comes out to greet them. Reeve can’t say that he’s surprised. After what the destruction of Shinra’s reactor did to this community, the animosity is well earned. 

As they walk through the town proper, he finds himself grateful for Reno’s presence. The dusty streets are empty, but Reeve can feel eyes on him from every doorway. Even the mayor’s staff members are eyeing him in a manner far less than friendly. Reno keeps pace slightly behind him, his electromag rod tapping a menacing cadence against his shoulder as his eyes rove, taking in anything that could be deemed a threat. He’s cool and calculated through and through. Even with the heat, he doesn’t seem to be working up a sweat.

The assessment of the aquifer goes smoothly, and the engineer that the mayor has tasked to take on the project seems pleased with Reeve’s designs. Reeve’s pleased with the situation, too, if he’s honest. Getting water to a desert-locked town is no easy feat, but his research is solid and so is the team tasked with seeing the project through.

That evening, the mayor hosts Reeve, the head engineer, and several other prominent townspeople for dinner. Her home is a simple but well-kept affair, and the food her partner puts on the table is suitably hearty.

There’s no chair for Reno, and he doesn’t ask for one. Instead, the Turk slouches against the wall behind Reeve, watchful behind his mask of nonchalance. Privately, Reeve thinks that he could stand to dial back the guard dog act a little. After all, the mayor and her people had warmed up to them now that Reeve has demonstrated a working knowledge of aqueducts and sincere desire to assist. It’s not his business to question the other’s process, though, so he keeps that to himself. 

As they leave, he thanks the mayor for the meal and makes sure to request a takeaway container for Reno’s benefit. Reno accepts it with a bemused smirk.

“What was that you were sayin’?” the redhead asks as they make their way through the darkened streets towards the inn where they’ve rented out a room. “All that about floods?”

“Oh, that?” Over dinner, they had discussed the problem of flash floods, which apparently come through North Corel about twice a year wreaking havoc. “It seems counter-intuitive, but desert communities are at high risk of flooding when big storms hit. Especially places like North Corel that have lower elevations than the surrounding area.”

“That what the...eh, what do you call ‘em?”

“Culverts?”

“Yeah, is that what the culverts are for?”

Reeve nods. “It is. Strategically planted trees are a big help, too. They hold the soil down.”

Flipping his rod idly in his hand, Reno steers them into a more brightly lit street that’s home to a couple of makeshift bars. “Think they could’a done somethin’ like that in Sector 5?” he asks over the din of music and drunk voices. “You know? In that one spot where the rain always leaked in?”

Reeve is familiar with the neighborhood that Reno’s describing. Back when Midgar existed, it had been considered squalid even by slum standards.

“Water had nowhere to go,” Reno continues, eyeing a pair of rowdy drunks that passes them. “It just sat for weeks. Dirt was packed real hard there, so it couldn’t soak in, either.”

Reeve imagines fetid water breeding disease and slowly destroying people’s homes. He wonders suddenly if Reno’s from that part of Sector 5. It’s certainly not his place to ask, but he can tell by his accent that he’s from one of the rougher areas below the plate.

Reno must sense some of this curiosity in his silence because he coughs and focuses his gaze a bit too hard on some kids playing with a dog across the street.

“Hey!” someone shouts. “You that Shinra swine?”

Reeve turns just in time to get punched in the face.

He doesn’t see what happens next. All he knows is that he’s shoved to the ground, and suddenly there’s a whole lot of yelling. When he finally pulls himself together enough to look up, he finds himself being supported by two townspeople, who are staring in horror as Reno pins Reeve’s attacker up against a wall. 

“Dirty fucker!” Reno snarls, giving the man a hard shake. “What sorta cheap shot was that?” He’s got an ugly snarl on his face the likes of which Reeve has never seen, and his electromag rod is sparking at the other’s throat. 

“Hey! Stop!” Pushing himself to his feet, Reeve grabs the Turk by the waist and jerks him back. “Please,” he says quietly as Reno begins to twist away from him. “Let me handle it.”

The Turk glares at him. “You _serious?_ ”

“I…yes. Stand down.”

Expression betraying that he would prefer to do literally anything else, Reno reluctantly lowers his weapon. 

Once he’s sure that Reno isn’t about to kill anyone, Reeve releases him and carefully approaches his aggressor, who has slumped slightly dazed to the earth. Swallowing the blood that’s seeped into his mouth from his split lip, he extends his hand to help him up. “Are you all right?”

Ignoring the offered hand, the man drags himself out of the dirt on his own and braces his back unsteadily against the wall. “Don’t need your help,” he says to Reeve, all the while eyeing Reno with an intensity that is equal parts hate and fear. “WRO my ass. I know exactly where your money comes from!”

Up close, Reeve can smell the liquor coming off of him. He’s a thin, older gentleman with a gray beard and dirt caked in the lines on his face. “You’re right,” Reeve says, “and I’m sorry, but we really are trying to help.”

By now a small crowd has gathered around them, but, taking one look at Reno, no one dares approach.

“Help?” The man spits at Reeve’s feet. “You think any _help_ you offer will make up for what your people did? I remember the night the reactor blew. It wasn’t us that did it, but Shinra didn’t care. They hunted us down like dogs!”

Reeve exhales. “I...I know...and I also know that nothing I do will ever lighten the burden of what you suffered, but I’m begging you. Don’t let your anger prevent you from accepting something that will improve your life.” Then, not having much else to say, he drops to his knees and bows.

When he raises his forehead from the dirt, the tension in the man’s limbs has bled away. He regards Reeve dully, like he barely has the energy to look at him, much less lash out. “Throw money at us, if that’s what makes you feel better,” he says, massaging a red mark on his throat where Reno’s weapon must have grazed him, “but I ain’t gonna hold my breath.”

He leaves after that, and eventually the crowd trickles away as well. Through all of it, Reeve remains on his knees, replaying the man’s words over and over as dust settles on his suit. 

It’s not until a gloved hand curls around his bicep that Reeve comes back to earth. He blinks up at Reno, who looks about as strung out as he is. 

“Let’s go,” he rasps, helping Reeve to his feet and sparing a moment to dust off his clothes with a few rough pats. Then, not waiting for a response, he frog-marches him the rest of the way back to the inn.

When the door is locked behind them in their cramped two-bed room, Reno helps him out of his suit jacket and tells him to take a seat.

Obediently, Reeve plops down on the edge of the bed. He watches as the Turk removes his blazer and gloves and washes his hands vigorously at the sink jutting from the far wall. When he’s satisfied, Reno grabs a rickety stool and first aid kit and takes a seat across from him.

“Ow,” Reeve mutters as the other gingerly starts to touch his face. It’s only now that the rush is wearing off that he realizes how bad his face hurts. 

“Bear with it,” Reno replies, dabbing disinfectant on Reeve’s busted lip. “Don’t want it to scar, do you?” 

Reeve tries not to flinch. “I might look more intimidating if it did. Could be useful at board meetings.”

“Not with those puppy dog eyes, sir.”

Reeve snorts and then immediately regrets it as his entire jaw throbs in protest.

“Fuck,” Reno says. “Quit talkin’.”

He obliges, fully expecting the other to make up the difference. Reno remains silent though, his expression growing increasingly dour as he cleans him up. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls out a cooling pack and activates it with a few harder than necessary cracks against his thigh.

“Reno? You okay?”

“Thought I told you to quit talkin’.” Pressing the cooling pack into his hand, Reno guides Reeve to hold it against his cheek. “For the swelling,” he says and then, with an angry sigh, “can’t believe I let that joker deck you.” 

Reeve moves to shake his head, only to give up when pain lances through his jaw.

“What am I? Some kind of goddamn rookie?”Reno continues, so mad his hands are shaking. Frowning at this, he presses his fists hard into his legs, but even in the dimly lit room the tremors are still visible.

Reeve swallows thickly. “Hey, now. It’s not-.”

“Oh, shove it, Reeve. If you weren’t such a pushover you’d pop me in the face to settle things.”

“Reno!”

Something in his voice must catch the Turk off guard because he flinches back and drops his gaze to the floor. “Sorry, sir,” he says to the carpet. “That was out of line.”

It _was_ out of line, but that’s not what bothers Reeve. “You’re human,” he says, reaching out tentatively to squeeze the other’s shoulder. “Humans make mistakes.”

Reno glances sideways to where Reeve is touching him. “...made a whole lot of mistakes,” he says, voice low.

There’s a shadow behind those words that’s bigger than his bruised face, and Reeve can guess the shape of it. “We all have. The only thing to do is move forward. Be better.”

When he says this, something raw crosses Reno’s expression that’s hard to look at. _It’s okay_ , Reeve wants to tell him, but he doesn’t because they both know that isn’t true. Instead, he uses his thumb to rub what he hopes are soothing circles into muscle that is painfully tense beneath his touch. “Don’t forget the past, but remember that you won’t find atonement there,” he says. “All you can control is what comes next.”

“You read that in a book?”

“My mother said it.”

Reno lets out a dull laugh. “What is she, a therapist?”

“Oh my god. Hardly.” Reeve opens his mouth to say something more about his family’s unconventional matriarch, only to stop short when a calloused hand settles on his own. 

Slowly, eyes downcast, Reno takes Reeve’s hand and slides it from his clothed shoulder up to the bare slope of skin where his neck and torso meet. Reeve’s fingers twitch at the unexpected contact, and when they do, the redhead lets out a quiet sigh. 

For a moment, Reeve imagines sliding his hand up higher - to ghost along the redhead’s throat, to trace the red markings on his cheeks. 

“We should get to bed,” he breathes.

Reno raises his head. Up close, Reeve can make out freckles and, at his hairline, what could be either shadows or dark brown roots. The redhead’s lips quirk slightly. “You sure about that?” 

Fuck no.

“I am.”

With a soft “yes, sir,” Reno slips out from beneath his touch and begins packing up the first aid kit. He kicks the stool he was sitting on back into the corner and asks Reeve if he wants any painkillers for his face. The change in demeanor is so sudden that Reeve finds himself wondering if that unspoken offer had been there at all.

Resolving to ponder that one later, Reeve prepares for bed. The only bathroom is a communal one down the hall, so he puts on his pajamas facing the wall to preserve his modesty. When he’s done, he turns to find that Reno has changed as well and is now brushing his teeth over the sink. He’s wearing boxers and a loose t-shirt. To Reeve, who has never seen him in anything other than what _sort of_ passes as business casual, the effect is jarring. Finishing up, Reno turns back to him. Reeve notices a red welt on his thigh and frowns.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Reno mutters, rubbing his upper arms. “Always forget the desert gets like this at night.”

Fishing around in his bag, Reeve locates a sweatshirt and tosses it at him. “Here.”

“...you don’t want it?”

“It’s fine. I sleep warm.” Deciding that brushing his teeth is more trouble than it’s worth with the way his face hurts, Reeve sets aside the cooling pack and climbs into his creaky twin bed. Turning onto his side to face the wall, he pulls the blanket to his chin and finds himself smiling when he hears the rustle of Reno slipping into his clothes.

He’s tempted to turn around and peek, but then the exhaustion of the day hits him, and Reeve finds himself asleep. 

…

He never does get to see what Reno looks like in the sweatshirt. When he wakes, the Turk is standing over him fully dressed. “Sleep good?” he asks. “Chopper’s gonna be here in, like, twenty minutes.”

“Mmm,” Reeve mutters, sitting up and prodding gently at his sore jaw. “Guess there’s no time for coffee, then.”

“Guess not, yo. Prob’ly wouldn’t have anything up to your standards around here, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised how low my standards are when it comes to caffeine,” Reeve says, relieved that Reno seems to be back to his normal self. The previous night was an anomaly, he decides, brought on by a stressful day and excess emotion.

Once he’s dressed and spent a good five minutes trying to convince himself that the bruises on his face aren’t that noticeable, Reeve follows Reno out to the helicopter, which has touched down on a bluff just outside of town. Under the cruel light of an uncaffeinated morning, he notices the bags beneath the Turk’s eyes. “Reno, how’d you sleep?”

“Eh? I’m good.” The redhead squints disapprovingly at the abundant sunlight. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“That room was a fuckin’ shithole, man. Coulda busted the lock on that door just by lookin’ at it.” 

Reeve’s ensuing lecture is lost in the roar of the helicopter's blades as they approach.

…

Back in New Midgar, Reno drops Reeve off at home and then proceeds to disappear for three weeks. As usual, Reeve’s work schedule is packed, but even this doesn’t stop him from noticing the redhead’s absence. It weighs on him - not just because he’s grown so used to Reno skulking at the edges of his life but because he can’t shake the feeling that they left something unfinished in North Corel. 

This feeling grows exponentially when he looks up from his computer one afternoon to find two Turks standing over him.

“Director Tuesti,” Elena says, “may we have a word?”

Reeve looks from her to her bald companion and then back to her again. He’s not certain how they got into his office without Tevia noticing, and he’s too afraid to ask.

“Please sit.” He indicates to the set of comfy chairs near the window before getting up to join them. “Can I have my assistant bring you anything to drink?”

“Not necessary,” Rude says. “How’s your face?”

“My fa- oh.” Reeve touches where the faintest hint of a bruise remains. “It’s fine. Really, I hope Reno didn’t get in any trouble over that.”

Neither Turk replies. Instead, Elena pulls out a small notebook and jots something down.

“Um,” Reeve goes on, conscious of how his voice crawls up in pitch as his visitors observe him, “was there something you needed?”

“Did you know,” Elena says, “that Reno recently got a cat?”

“Really? That’s fantastic. He seems to like them.”

Elena scribbles another note.

“I’m, uh, sure you know this, but I have one, too,” Reeve says, mostly to distract himself from the scratch of her pencil. “It’s relaxing to keep him around the house. I think that Reno could benefit from something like that as well.”

There’s a pause in Elena’s writing. 

“Why do you say that?” Rude asks, slowly removing his sunglasses.

Unable to help himself, Reeve leans back in his chair as far from Rude’s assessing stare as possible. “He just seems like the type to...internalize his stress.”

The pair take a moment to mull this over. “Are you also aware,” Elena says after this unnecessarily pregnant pause, “that our colleague recently downloaded eight e-books on the topic of craft breweries and…” She checks her notes. “...civic engineering?”

“Uhh?”

“Reno has never expressed an interest in craft beer, Director Tuesti, nor does he read for pleasure. Do you have any idea where this sudden change in behavior might have originated?”

“No?”

“Have you read his file?” Rude’s voice is eerily quiet.

“Reno’s personnel file? Of course not.”

“As an executive, you could access it.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t.” Reeve’s temper flares despite his nerves. The old President Shinra had compiled the files as leverage against the Turks after his son’s ill-fated coup. They contain everything from an individual’s family history to their sexual preferences and bank account numbers. “It’s unethical to hold employees’ personal information over their heads like that.”

“So you say,” Rude says, unruffled by his burst of anger. “Elena, any more questions?”

“Just one.” Closing the notebook, Elena pulls out her PHS and shows him a photo on the screen. “Do you know where Reno got this sweatshirt?”

Reeve examines the photo, which depicts his old university hoodie crumpled haphazardly on an unmade bed. “That’s mine,” he blurts out before the implication dawns on him. “Um, that’s not what it looks like.”

Equally louring expressions cross both Turks’ faces. It strikes Reeve suddenly that he is alone in a room with two very dangerous people who seem to think that he’s engaged in something...untoward with their friend. 

The stony silence that follows is broken by the ringtone of Rude’s PHS. Before answering, he eyes the caller ID with a cringe.

“Reno, I...I, uh-.” 

Reeve can’t discern exactly what the redhead’s saying, but the PHS speaker’s volume is up high enough that he can tell he’s yelling. After a solid minute and a half of listening to his tinny rage, Rude ends the call mid-rant and turns to Elena with a manner of vague helplessness. 

“Thank you for your time,” she says to Reeve as though nothing strange has happened. “If we have follow-up questions, we’ll be in touch.”

…

When he gets home that evening, Reeve checks his PHS to find that he’s been flooded with messages.

  
  


_Reno:_

_my coworkers r assholes_

_ima kill em slow_

_anyway my bad about the sweatshirt_

_musta shoved it in my bag w/o thinkin_

_bring it in next week for ya_

_gotta do laundry first_

  
  


Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Reeve hitches up his sweats and moves into the living room, where he flops onto the couch. 

_Keep it if you like_ , he types, surprised when the message shows up as read almost instantly. _Your colleagues care a great deal for you, by the way._

  
  


_Reno:_

_i. will. murder. them_

  
  


Chuckling, Reeve settles into a more comfortable position and takes a long drink. _They told me about your new cat,_ he texts back. _Is it as cute as Frank?_

Ten seconds later, his phone erupts with buzzing as photo after photo appears in the chat. Reno’s cat is more of a kitten, actually. It’s a shrimpy little tortoiseshell with two different colored eyes and a snaggle tooth.

  
  


_Reeve:_

_You need to feed it more._

  
  


_Reno:_

_omg im workin on it_

_i dont get off on starvin cats man_

_she was like this when I got her_

  
  


This indignant text is followed by another, slightly blurry image of Reno’s head against a pillow. The kitten is nestled snugly in the crook above his shoulder, though, if he’s honest, Reeve’s eyes linger a lot longer on Reno’s loose, fanned out hair than they do the cat. 

  
  


_Reeve:_

_Cute._

  
  


_Reno:_

_Which one?_

  
  


He takes another swig of his drink.

  
  


_Reeve:_

_Both._

  
  


_Reno:_

_was that an hr violation director?_

  
  


Oh my god, he thinks. Was it?

  
  


_Reno:_

_relax i feel u stressin out from here_

_glad u like ;)_

  
  


Taking a moment to stare long and hard at that winky face, Reeve sets his beer aside and commits his bravest act since the time he participated in espionage using a homemade animatronic cat.

  
  


_Reeve:_

_HR policy permitting, would you like to have dinner with me this Saturday? I still haven’t thanked you properly for taking care of Frank._

....

“I can’t believe he said yes,” Reeve tells his sister, Sonya, over speakerphone as he checks his hair in the mirror for the third time in as many minutes. 

_“Don’t be so self-deprecating, son. It’s unbecoming.”_

_“Get off the phone, mom!”_ his sister shouts. _“Don’t worry, Reeve. I’m sure your date will go just fine.”_

“It’s not a date.”

_“Not with that attitude, it won’t be.”_

_“Seriously, Mom. GET OFF THE PHONE. Date. Not a date. Who cares? Either way, just have fun with it!”_

“Fun?” Reeve frowns at the bit of gray that has crept into his beard. “Never heard of it.”

_“Oh my god, Reeve. Don’t stress out so much. You’re a real catch.”_

When the doorbell rings moments later, Reeve still is not convinced. “I have to go,” he says, not bothering to wait for a reply before hanging up. He makes his way to the door, hoping that he doesn’t have to shake Reno’s hand or something because his palms are really sweaty. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. Again, he never specified that this was a date, though he supposes in retrospect that the implication might have been there. Still, it’s not as if...Reno’s just a naturally flirty person who likes food. There’s no way he’d take Reeve seriously, right?

“Right.”

With the expectation of a pleasant, perfectly platonic evening firmly in place, Reeve opens the door...and oh. Oh no.

Eyes lidded, Reno smirks at him in a way that is a far cry from platonic. He’s wearing a leather jacket, black jeans and a burgundy dress shirt that is, unsurprisingly, undone halfway to his navel. There’s something different about his hair, too, and it takes Reeve an embarrassing amount of time to realize that he’s not wearing his goggles. 

“Hey.”

Reeve swallows. “Um. Hello.”

“You gonna let me in?”

Giving himself an internal shake, he steps aside. “Please.”  
  


Slinking past, Reno kicks off his boots and shoves the six pack of beer he’s been carrying into Reeve’s hands. “Man, your place is always so clean,” he says, glancing at the family photos on his wall as he moves deeper into the house. 

Reeve closes the door and just kind of flounders in his wake. “Can I take your jacket?”

“Huh? Oh, thanks.” The redhead slips out of the garment and hands it over. “Man, what a gentleman.” 

Without the jacket, Reeve can see that the other’s shirt is cuffed halfway up his forearms. It’s all he can do to tear his eyes away from said forearms so that he can plod over to the coat rack and then the kitchen to deposit the beer in the fridge. When he returns, Reno has moved from the foyer into the living room, where he is sprawled out on the floor with Frank. 

“Got ya somethin’,” he coos, pulling a small stuffed mouse out of his pocket and dangling it just out of the cat’s impatient reach. “Gotta work on that killer instinct, yo. That’s right. Come ‘n get it.”

Something about the image is so disarming that Reeve’s nerves begin to settle. “Can I get you something to drink?” he calls over his shoulder as he moves back into the kitchen to check the curry. It should be ready in about twenty minutes, he notes with satisfaction. He always likes when he times things right.

“Smells good.”

Having grown used to the redhead’s sudden appearances, he turns to find Reno hovering over the pot on the stove. “I hope you like it,” he says. “It might be a little spicy.”

“I like spicy. You want some help?”

Thanks to or possibly in spite of Reno’s help, they manage to serve up a damn good curry. Reno polishes off three bowls and two beers, all the while keeping up a steady stream of conversation about everything from work to his landlord troubles to the one time he blew all his money at Gold Saucer and needed Rude to bail him out. Reeve’s a bit relieved. He’s not always good at filling silences, and without the parameters of work to dictate their interactions, he wasn’t sure that they’d find much to talk about.

“Man, you’re the whole package,” Reno says when he’s finally run out of anecdotes. Leaning his chair back, he pats his belly with a contented sigh. “Rich. Good cook. Good lookin’.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of helping with the dishes,” Reeve replies, taking his plate to the sink so that the other doesn’t see him blush. “By the way, how did you know what kind of beer I like?”

“I just bought what looked the fanciest,” Reno hedges, allowing the front legs of his chair to return to the floor with a thud.

After dinner, they watch a movie. It’s a lighthearted action comedy that has Reno snorting smugly and picking apart the fight choreography at every opportunity. That said, he seems to enjoy the viewing experience. Reeve, for his part, pays only enough attention to the film to notice that the dialogue and acting are both terrible. He’s much more concerned with the warmth of Reno’s thigh pressing against his own. 

It’s not a date.

So, then, what is it? Are he and Reno friends? Are they friends who could _maybe_ date?

For the life of him, Reeve still doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing or how Reno factors into it. He and the redhead are ill-suited for friendship or anything else in just about every way, and yet every time he looks at Reno, all Reeve can think about is how right it feels to get a solid meal in him and lounge around with full bellies watching movies. 

Sometime around the climax of the obligatory romantic subplot, Frank comes over and curls up on Reno’s lap.

“I see how it is,” Reeve tells the cat. “Just move on to the next guy. Never mind that I put food on the table.”

“Don’t worry, yo. I’m sure he knows where his bread is buttered.” Reno turns to him with a grin just as Reeve does the same. Suddenly, their faces are inches apart, a fact that the redhead takes entirely in stride. “So,” he says, using the pink tip of his tongue to wet his lower lip, “you gonna tell me what I’m really doin’ here?”

Reeve stares in fascination at the other’s dark eyelashes. “I...uh…well...”

“See, I may not be a man of learnin’,” Reno continues, “but I do got some theories. Can I test one?” 

Reeve wishes his hands weren’t so damn sweaty. He nods.

The kiss comes slow - Reno’s lips warm and soft in a way that catches him off guard. His palm is likewise warm as it comes up to cup Reeve’s jaw, allowing the kiss to deepen naturally into slick tongue and the occasional scrape of teeth.

“Good theory,” Reeve says when they finally pull apart.

Reno laughs, a little breathless. “Been known to have a few.” Grabbing the remote, he switches off the TV and places Frank carefully on the floor, where the cat stares up at him in vague disgruntlement. "Sorry champ," he tells the cat before throwing a long, graceful leg over Reeve and straddling his lap. He kisses him again - longer and harder this time, with more of the flare that Reeve would expect. “Goddamn,” the Turk breathes against his mouth, “you know how long I wanted this?”

They continue hot and heavy, Reno’s hands grasping at Reeve’s collar, his ass grinding slowly against his crotch. It’s...it’s so good. Really, Reeve doesn’t have words to express how good it is, but it’s also a little...well...

Withdrawing suddenly, Reno slides off Reeve’s lap and sinks onto his knees. His movements are graceful and so quick that Reeve’s brain struggles to keep up. It’s not until the Turk’s hands hover over his inner thighs that he finds his voice. 

“What are you doing?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” His smirk is sultry, lips slick and red. “Still feel _real_ bad ‘bout what happened in North Corel. Lemme make it up to you.”

At Reeve’s lack of response, the sleaze in his drawl drops a bit. “I read you wrong? Thought we’d been dancin’ around this for a while.”

They _have_ been dancing around something, but Reeve’s not sure they’re in agreement on exactly what that something is.

“Reno,” he says, careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible, “are you only here because you feel guilty about that?”

“Huh? No, I was just...I can shut up. You want a quiet fuck?”

Reeve finds himself grateful that he put the brakes on this when he did. “I, uh, I think you may have misinterpreted the nature of my advances,” he says, adjusting his position so that Reno is no longer between his legs.

“Advances?” Flopping back on the carpet, Reno swipes a hand across his face and groans. “You just send me in loops, man. One minute you’re bein’ all nice and givin’ me these _looks_...but when I try to give you somethin’ back, you act like I got the fuckin’ plague. I got no idea, yo. What d’you even want?”

Reeve blinks in surprise. “I want to know you,” he answers honestly. “I think that there could be something special between us, and I want to figure out what that is.” 

“Shit, Tuesti. Sounds like you wanna _date_ me.”

“Is that weird?”

“Kinda.” With a huff, Reno rises off the floor and throws himself down next to him on the couch.

This is a side of Reno he hasn’t seen, and Reeve feels increasingly out of his depth. “What’s so weird about me wanting to date you?” he asks, pretending gallantly that just saying this doesn’t make him flush.

Reno shakes his head at that flush and sighs. “You’re so fuckin’ cute,”he laments. “Why’d I have to like a guy like you?”

“If it makes you feel better, I think I like you, too.”

“Well, you got a funny way of showin’ it.”

Reeve winces. “I should have been clearer. I want to give this a try, but I think, for a lot of reasons, that it would be best to take things slow.”

“What’s ‘slow’ mean exactly? More dates?”

“Uh, that’s the idea. Why? You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that.” Reno picks at a piece of lint on his shirt. He’s blushing, too, Reeve notices, the color sitting high and pretty on his cheeks. “Right,” he says at last, flicking the lint away before fixing a gaze on Reeve that is almost challenging. “What d’you wanna know?”

“Know?”

“Said you wanna know me, yeah? Where should I start?” 

Reeve blinks at him. Is this really happening? “Let’s see,” he says, “why’d you get those tattoos?”

…

Reno answers a lot of Reeve’s questions and dodges just as many. Reeve doesn’t mind. He’s patient and knows full well that some secrets are better left kept. He encourages the Turk to ask questions of him as well and is surprised by how reluctant he is to do so. When Reno finally does ask, he keeps things simple - favorite food, top five vacation destinations, allergies. All pleasant, safe topics and nothing close to the pain they circled in North Corel. 

It gets late, and after Reno’s yawned for the third time, Reeve asks him if he’s tired. “I can put you up in the guestroom,” he says, but the redhead just waves him off.

“I’ll get outta your hair. Gotta work tomorrow, anyway.”

“On Sunday? Why? New mission?”

Reno wrinkles his nose. “Nah, man. Paperwork.”

Reeve chuckles, earning an expression from the other that is dangerously close to a pout. 

“You makin’ fun of me, Tuesti?”

“I guess I just remembered that you're an office worker, is all.”

“Only _technically_.”

He walks Reno to the door and holds his jacket open so that he can slide back into it. Then, while Reno is pulling on his boots, he retreats to the kitchen and removes a container of leftover curry from the fridge.

“Because you liked it so much,” he replies to the other’s unasked question as he presses it into his hands, “and as reassurance that you’ll come back. You know, to return it.”

“I mean, I already owe you a sweatshirt.”

“Thought I told you to keep that.” 

Reno lets out a huff that turns quickly into a sigh as Reeve kisses him goodnight. When they pull apart, he tucks the container of curry under his arm and pats his pockets for his keys. As he opens the door to go, he pauses.

“You could have anyone,” he says, face turned into the night.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Reno just shakes his head and leaves before Reeve can stop him.

…

Monday morning comes, and Reeve walks into the office humming. He has three reports due and meetings booked solid from 10 to 5. For some reason, this doesn’t bother him.

“Good morning, Director Tuesti,” says his PA, smiling like she knows something.

“Good morning, Tevia.”

Reeve enters his office and shuts the door. 

“Mornin’, Director Tuesti.”

“Good mor - Reno? How did you get in here?”

Sitting comfortably behind Reeve’s desk, the redhead smirks. “So,” he says, spinning an empty food container on one finger, “about that second date.”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know Reno and Reeve, like, literally never interact in canon, but I couldn't help it.


End file.
